


There's a time that I remember

by Ellesra



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Homeless Karkat, Homelessness, Humanstuck (kinda), M/M, Masturbation, Movie star Dave
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:21:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22588582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellesra/pseuds/Ellesra
Summary: “They’ll be singing songs about us in no time, the terrible actor and his grumpy yet charming bff. Can just see the intro rolling already,” he continues.“What the actual fuck are you on about?” you ask, because clearly, the insane guy needs fodder to chatter on. It’s not like you shouldn’t just leave him behind, find another dry spot to stay for a bit.Then again, fuck him. This is your dry spot, he can find his own. You’re going to stay here until you have to leave; you’re not leaving it just because some dude comes up and babbles at you.
Relationships: Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas
Comments: 12
Kudos: 94





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> More tags will be added later. Keeping them back just to not spoil everything at the first chapter. This will probably contain some angst in the end, just so you're aware and properly warned.
> 
> Probably not more angst than original Homestuck though, so. *shrug*
> 
> Title from "Memories" of Maroon 5.
> 
> Thanks to notwest and Jess for beta-ing! This work would be a lot more messy and crap without their skilled assistance!

This might just be the shittiest day of your life.

In a life as terrible as yours, that’s truly an accomplishment. Award-worthy, even. 

The fucker who did it, who took this day that final step up the shit-ladder, doesn’t even give you a second glance as he speeds by in his Mercedes. You stand there, drenched to the bone. The passing car has just soaked the last part of your clothes that was still dry. Above, the rain makes no sign of stopping its endless onslaught.

It’s been raining for days, really, but at least you had space in the shelters then. Today you drew the short lot. And it’s not like you deserved that bed more than any of the other poor fuckers in need of it, but right now you’re not in a mood to be all sharing and caring. You throw a few curses at the car even though it’s already rounding a corner, going out of view.

Today is Saturday. Most of your usual haunts will be inhabited by drunks stumbling around and throwing up in corners. Sighing, you resign yourself to a night of wandering. If you don’t, you’ll probably get sick. It’s been a long time since you’ve been sick, but if you remember correctly those days were a close tie on the shittiest day award.

The backpack you’re wearing digs into your shoulders as it always does. You wander down the empty streets of the shopping district, keeping away from the busier streets where the bars and hotels are. People usually view you as the scum of the earth; drunk people have this way of forgetting that you are a human being entirely, and seem to enjoy using you as either a punching bag or a toilet.

At least you haven’t been pissed on today. Though, thinking about it, you might almost take it just to feel the warmth for a few seconds.

Your fingers are numb and you’re sure the only reason your toes haven’t fallen off is because you're moving. You spare a single, longing gaze at the various benches you pass. Can’t really sit down right now. It might be the death of you.

Even so, after wandering for close to two hours you simply have to stop. Your legs are shivering and it’s not from the cold anymore. Not entirely from cold, anyway.

Throwing your backpack off, you settle into a chair outside a dark cafe with a roof overhang. It's good shelter, although a bit close to a few restaurants that are still bustling with the dinner crowd.

Watching passersby by is pretty much the only pastime you do with any sort of regularity. It entertains you to assign people stories.

That guy who’s passing by probably just fought with another guy because his boyfriend was cheating on him. That other person there is his brother and totally pulled him out of the fight.

Nobody really pays any attention to you. That is absolutely for the best, in your well-educated opinion. You simply watch people go by, the streets so dark  that their figures are only visible by streetlights and illuminated shop signs.

Of course you wouldn’t be so lucky as to have an uneventful sit-down. A person stumbles out of a bar up ahead, and for a few seconds you entertain their story as well. Alone, but they probably have friends inside. By their stumbling, you think they might have gotten kicked out. They presumably made some gross jokes at some ladies before they were.

The person comes closer and you’re fairly certain it’s a guy. Also, judging by his looks, it’s another certified douchebag. He’s wearing sunglasses, for god’s sake. How can he see anything with those on in this light?

He turns towards you. You freeze, though you weren’t moving in the first place, and look away from him. If you don’t look, he probably won’t be offended by your mere presence on this street. Sometimes you’re all for a confrontation, just to give your life a single spark of something happening before you go back to your dreary streets and shelters. Today is not the day for any of that. 

It’s around 1 am, and people will soon be going home from the clubs en masse. Which is probably where this guy was headed before spotting your sorry ass.

He’s coming closer. There is no shrinking out of sight, but you grab your backpack in case you’ll need to run. What if this guy’s some kind of psychopath? Weirder things have happened to you, really.

The person sits in a chair at the same table you’re at.

“Sup,” he says, drawling in a way that could be dialect or all the drinks he's had. It’s hard to tell.

Looking closer, you can see he’s wearing a certified douchebag outfit as well— a suit that looks like it was new before he wore it out in the rain. Even in this light, you can see the expensiveness of his shades.

“What,” you demand, and feel certain that this must be some part of a plan. He’s probably going to call the police or something, and tell them you stole from him. Maybe he’s going to claim you beat him up. It’s not like you have any money to give him, but some of these fuckers do this kind of thing for shits and giggles.

You’re also pretty sure he’s staring at you. Hard to say with the shades, but he’s definitely turned in your direction.

“Just wondering what a fellow night wanderer is up to, you know, saw you and thought ‘this guy is alone and probably in need of a conversation, it’s gonna get all friendly up in here’ like, you’ve seen the premise, two people meet randomly and it’s the start of a friendship of the ages,” he says, and you simply stare at him in disbelief. The word you spoke earlier still holds true. What. What in the everloving fuck is he up to.

“They’ll be singing songs about us in no time, the terrible actor and his grumpy yet charming bff. Can just see the intro rolling already,” he continues.

“What the actual fuck are you on about?” you ask, because clearly, the insane guy needs fodder to chatter on. It’s not like you shouldn’t just leave him behind, find another dry spot to stay for a bit.

Then again, fuck him. This is your dry spot, he can find his own. You’re going to stay here until you have to leave; you’re not leaving it just because some dude comes up and babbles at you.

“Just trying to make friends bro. I’m Dave, by the way,” he answers, and stretches a pale hand towards you. You’re almost surprised he’s not wearing a five hundred dollar watch on his wrist.

_ Dave _ . It’s such a douchebag name as well. His parents must have been working hard to fit him into such a terrible stereotype.

“Like hell I’m giving you my name. Go the fuck away,” you growl.

Dave’s head tilts to the side slightly. You might be wrong, but you think you see his mouth twitch upward. Great, he’s amused. Just what you wanted for Christmas.

“You look cold. Do you need somewhere to stay for tonight?” he asks, instead of going the fuck away. 

“What part of ‘go away’ did you not get, asshole? I’m not some sodding prostitute that you can just pick off the streets, bulgemuncher. If you’re so eager, go to the red light district already.” Dread sinks into you. You’re more certain than ever that he wants something, and at this point you almost don’t want to say no. Fuck, if he offered you straight out you might go for it just to be in a warm place for a few minutes. He’d probably also want you to shower beforehand, and wouldn’t that be just the best. You move your fingers, trying to get blood back into them.

“I’m not trying to fuck with you, man. Or to fuck you, or whatever. It’s just that I have an extra bedroom and you look totally miserable sitting here.” Dave leans back in his chair, balancing on two legs.

It’s weird, because you were so certain he was drunk off his mind. It seems now rather that his stumbling was because of something else. Maybe he just can’t see properly with his dumb shades. Either way, he sure is talking clearly.

Perhaps he’s a serial killer.

Perhaps he’ll let you use the shower before he kills you.

“Whatever. If you’re so desperate for my company, I  _ guess _ I can manage to be nice to you for a night. We all have to give to charity sometimes,” you grumble. For a moment you think you see an eyebrow go up above those shades, his mouth quirking upwards, before his face smooths out again.

“Cool, alright. Need help with that?” he asks, and points to your backpack.

There is just no way he’s not planning to kill or rape you after this.

Perhaps you could kill him first, in some fucked up self-defense. No one would ever believe you didn’t assault him first, but tough luck. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve been in prison. This time would just be more extended.

“Great, yes, please take this gigantic piece of shit burden off my shoulders for a few minutes,” you say, mostly in jape. He shrugs and picks up your backpack with surprising ease.

Those straps must be dirtying his expensive suit. Wow, if he’s actually being genuine you’re going to feel so bad about this later.

That’s a thought for tomorrow, though.

Dave leads you through the streets, hands in his pockets. You’re pretty sure you’re headed for one of the fancier parts of town, and you’re not surprised. A guy who can afford to dirty his expensive suit like it’s nothing sure can afford an apartment that isn’t absolute shit. It doesn’t take you long to get there, and yet you feel insane amounts of discomfort waiting for him to put in the code to the front door of the building. This might just be the fanciest place you’ve ever been in. The doors are wide and with decorations in shiny metal, and when you get inside you see that there’s even a fucking lobby in here. The receptionist, a tired-looking middle-aged woman, looks at Dave and nods. She looks at you, and her eyes get really wide. It’s almost filthy how much satisfaction it gives you to nod at her. She stares at you as you walk by, feelings of both glee and dread warring for the place at the pit of your stomach.

For some reason Dave chooses to take the stairs. You go up and up, and your legs are shivering with exhaustion by the time you reach his floor. He seems only slightly winded, despite your heavy backpack still resting on his shoulders.

Five floors. Why the fuck wouldn’t he take the elevator. You curse him in your mind as you walk over to his door. He slides the key-card in and you hear the tell-tale whirr of the door unlocking.

His apartment is as extravagant as you thought it would be. Dave wears his shoes inside and you follow suit, though it makes you uncomfortable to think of your dirty sneakers on his pristine wooden floor. Not that your socks are much better. You haven’t gotten the opportunity to wash them for the better part of a month, now.

“Come in, make yourself at home. Drinks in the fridge, toilet to the left. Just take whatever you want, mi casa su casa, and all that jazz,” Dave says, gesturing as he talks. You are definitely mistrustful of this guy, but if he’s offering, you sure aren’t gonna say no.

“Also, I assume you might wanna wash up and get your clothes clean and stuff. There’s a washing machine in the bathroom, and I’ll get you something you can wear in the meantime, if you want. I mean, you could do the whole nudist thing, how would I know what you like, and I bet your booty isn’t too bad to look at, but you—” he pauses, finally, and throws you a glance.

“Yes, I’ll shut up now,” he finishes, after a few seconds of meeting your glare head-on.

What. Is. The.  _ Catch _ . You just don’t get it. Does he get off on doing the charity thing? Is he still planning to murder you, but needs you squeaky clean in order to do so? What is his  _ deal _ !?

Despite your many worries, you do manage to take off your many layers and get in the shower. Before going into the bathroom, Dave handed you a t-shirt, a pair of boxers and some pyjama pants, and you simply didn’t have the energy left to deny him.

You realize that you put the shower on too warm when you start feeling like you’re burning alive. The pinpricks from the blood flowing back into your limbs is excruciating. You hiss and weather it like a true martyr.

A martyr who is getting everything served to him like he’s Caesar. What the fuck is even going on.

You make sure to take liberally from Dave’s stock of expensive soaps. After three washes, your hair finally starts to foam when you put the soap into it. Countless layers of grime have been washed off you, leaving the shower considerably dirtier than when you got in. Futilely, you attempt to rub at the floor tiles with your hand so that the dirt will follow the water into the drain. It only helps a little bit.

The towel is just as exquisite as the shower. Your body feels like it’s floating, and there’s only a slight tingling left in your extremities. You wiggle your toes against the fluffy towel on the floor and rub the one you’re holding over your hair to get rid of most of the moisture clinging to it. When you stop, you look in the mirror to see your hair sticking up to almost every direction. It’s getting long again. You’re gonna have to ask that wretched lady to give you a haircut and you’re already dreading it.

Y ou rub your stubble self-consciously; it ’s only been a few days since you managed to shave. Dave won’t be expecting you to suddenly look all clean-shaven like a porn-star. Doesn’t keep you from thinking about it, though.

The boxers are a bit small, and definitely give your ass way more definition than you’re comfortable with. The t-shirt, in return, is big even for you. The front says “u mad bro” in what is definitely Comic Sans, and accompanying it is a badly drawn face.

The pyjama pants are too long, and also too tight. You definitely won’t be complaining.

Figuring out the washing machine is fairly easy. The instructions on the front seem clear enough, and you gather what needs washing from your bag. Halfway through stuffing the machine you realize you’ll need two washes to get it all through.

You see a function to give it an extra soak and figure there’s a need for it.

You end up staring at the machine for a while. You watch the water fill up and the contents starting to slowly spin as they take in the water. It’s mesmerizing. It’s also a great way to avoid going out and seeing Dave.

Once the timer on the washing machine has gone down from 3:49 to 2:21, you realize you’ve actually nodded off. You might have been embarrassed about falling asleep in the bathroom like this, but exhaustion is weighing on you like a brick house.

Despite this, you manage to stand up like a champ. Really, the award goes to you, Karkat. Time to face the music and hopefully dance right off into bed. And shit, what would the beds in this kind of place even be like?

You exit the bathroom, and feel slightly surprised to see Dave on the couch, still up. The living room slash kitchen is a large space, larger than the whole of any apartment you’ve ever lived in. It practically shines in the light from the spots overhead.

“Thanks,” you say, partly to get his attention and partly because it’s the only thing your sleepy mind can come up with right now.

Dave looks up at you. “N-P dude, the shower in this place is too rad not to share with the world. I’ve been using it for a week, and I’m still finding new pressure adjustments on that thing,” he says, and then pauses. You look back at him in consternation. It looks like he wants to keep talking but can’t find the words. Or something.

“Looking good,” he says at last. Right. You breathe out a heavy sigh and steel yourself. Better get this over with, so you can get to bed as soon as possible.

Fighting the exhaustion making your feet practically immovable, you walk over to him. Then you promptly swing your foot forward and straddle him.

“I get it, you want your payment. Not like it’s enough for anyone to just be a decent human being,” you say, and this close you can see his eyes go wide behind his glasses. You reach for the buttons on his shirt.

Before you get there, his hands are holding your wrists. You must be more tired than you thought, because you didn’t even see him move.

“Wait, Karkat, that totally wasn’t what I was—-”

He shuts his mouth, but it’s too late.

Dave knows your name. He knows who you are. He wasn’t just some stranger taking pity on you.

Problem is, you still have no idea who he is.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaed by the talented notwest!
> 
> There is some sexual content in this chapter, be warned.

“I mean, I’m not some kinky bastard bringing random people home, this isn’t all Pretty Woman where I’m the businessman and you’re the gorgeous lady out for a bit of cash, I mean it’s not that you couldn’t pull it off—I mean you could totally give Julia Roberts a run for her money but _fucks sake Karkat please get off me_ ,” Dave says in one breath. You look at him for a moment and observe how uncomfortable he seems. It gives you a strange thrill to be the one in power for once. Not that you feel the need to “stick it to the man” or anything, but it’s nice. Being in Dave’s expensive apartment seated on Dave’s expensive suit and being _in charge_.

You end up getting off of him, fast. But it’s the thought that counts.

“Thanks. Why don’t I, uhm, show you to your room? I bet you are tired as all hell, that rain was coming down like asses and cats and‒” 

He miraculously shuts up when you hold up a hand.

“First tell me where you know me from, because I sure as shit don’t know who you are,” you demand, and he pauses on his way up from the couch. You can see his eyes shifting behind his glasses and he hesitates before sitting back down.

“Alright, yeah, I’m not really sure where I know you from? Like I know your name and I know you’re grumpy or whatever, and I recognised you when I saw you sitting there,” Dave says, not explaining anything. Like it isn’t weird to know someone’s name and then _not_ know how you know them.

“Bullshit. You have to know where we’ve met. Did we go to school together or something? Not that you look like you’ve been to public school a day of your fucking life, but who knows, maybe your rich parents thought it would build character or something, what would I know.”

Dave lets out a breath that almost sounds like a chuckle. “Yeah, those rich parents sure wanted to build some character, all like lets make another tower of Pisa or whatever, it’ll be a laugh,” he says. You squint at him. “But yeah, sure, it was probably from school or something. Might’ve seen your face in a yearbook and thought hey, that dude sure has a face I should remember for the next ten years.”

You’re not entirely sure you buy it, but you are not in any condition to use thought processes right now.

“Okay, great. You mentioned a bed?” you say, now that your question has been answered. Still don’t remember him, but he’s wearing glasses and might have changed a lot if you knew him all the way back in high school.

Dave nods sharply and gets up. He’s very fast. Some of it might just be you zoning out, but he sure made it across the room in the time it took you to blink. Maybe you just fell asleep for a couple of seconds. Stranger things have happened.

Across from the bathroom are two other doors. They look nondescript, and when Dave opens the door closest to the entrance you see the aforementioned second bedroom. Thank god. You march through the living room and right past Dave.

The room is chilly, but nothing like outside. You promptly go over to the queen-sized bed and fall over, face meeting the pillow with a “whump” on impact.

This is the softest thing you’ve experienced in… Forever. You’re certain you’ve never been embraced by something so soft.

“Goodnight, Karkat,” Dave says, surprisingly gentle. You give a grunt in reply. Your consciousness barely lasts the time it takes for him to close the door.

When you wake it’s all at once. You’re off the bed before your eyes are even open. As your feet meet the floor you stumble, knocking against the closet with your shoulder. For a moment, you think you’re in a hospital. Looking around gives you pause. This is nothing like any hospital you’ve ever been in.

It takes an aggravating amount of time before your mind catches up with your body.

Your hands feel strangely soft against your face as you rub your eyes. This is pretty crazy. This is movie levels of weird, actually.

Sounds from the clacking of a keyboard and softly spoken words meet your ears as you enter the hallway. Glancing towards the living room, you see Dave on the couch, illuminated by the screen of his laptop and talking to someone through a headset.

The rest of the room is dark, and you figure it’s still nighttime.

“I dunno what you want me to say, man. I mean, I’m going to ask about her, I just need some time to, y’know, ease him into it. He doesn’t remember me, so it’s not like I can just go ahead and pile the whole shitload on him at once,” Dave speaks into the headset. You don’t hear any words coming back, but it’s clear they do respond by the way he rolls his eyes. You notice that he’s taken off his glasses. It transforms his face, making him look younger and more vulnerable.

That sure was some sketchy stuff he just said. You tiptoe to the open bathroom door and hover there in the doorway, on the hunt for more information.

“Yeah well, you can come talk to him yourself if you’re so eager. It doesn’t always have to be me busting my ass while you lounge off in New York on your cushions sipping tea and reading wizard porn,” Dave says, clearly annoyed with whoever’s on the other side. He pauses for a beat. “Oh, sorry, _write_ wizard porn. How could I forget, you moved up the echeladder.”

Maybe they’re not talking about you. Except, _duh_ , of course they’re talking about you. Dave just mentioned that you don't remember him. 

Which ‘ _her’_ would you know that some stranger would want to know about? You try to tick the people you know off in your head, and come up short.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll get right on that after I do my actual job and earn actual money and stuff. It’s not like all of us can mooch off of the crazy teenage masses who wet their pants at the first mention of Parry Hotter.” Dave keeps talking. It doesn’t make much sense to you. Then again, he’s not talking to you, and you should definitely stop lurking around in the shadows and go out there and confront him.

On second thought, that bed was really fucking comfortable, and you don’t want him to kick you out quite yet.

So you go to use the toilet, and at this point you don’t care about making noise. By the time you’re done and in the hallway again, Dave’s stopped talking. When you exit the bathroom, his shades are turned your direction.

You stare at him, not willing to concede the staring contest even if he _could_ be blinking up a storm without you seeing it. After a while he turns his head away, and you mark the scoreboard 2:0 in your favor.

It’s not a game, but you are definitely winning.

Despite this, you have a clump the size of the building you’re in settling in the pit of your stomach. There is something going on, and it itches that you have no way of knowing what that is. Or do you? If Dave knows you from somewhere, if this wizard loving person knows you from somewhere, then it’s a safe bet to say you probably know them too. Perhaps in a _saw them from a distance in fourth grade_ kind of knowing. Doesn’t mean that the information isn’t there _somewhere_.

The bed is just as soft as when you laid in it 20 minutes ago. Sadly, sleep doesn’t come as easily this time. You lay awake, plagued by doubts about what these people could possibly want from you. If they wanted to steal your kidney or something then your bet is that Dave would have stabbed you the moment you fell asleep. You were dead on your feet, so it’s not like you would have put up a fight.

If he wanted sex, he wouldn’t have stopped you earlier. Unless he likes taking it, not receiving it from a willing partner. That doesn’t explain the inclusion of another person. A friend, it sounded like.

Potentially, you really could know this person from somewhere, and he _really_ is just a decent guy who wants for you not to sleep outside in the rain for a night. Wouldn’t that be lovely.

As your thoughts derail onto other topics, you don’t even notice falling asleep. What you do notice next is sunlight on your face. Your eyelids are welded together with sleep, and it takes actual effort to open your eyes. There’s no obvious pain other than the stiffness of your muscles, so you assume you haven’t been stabbed during your rest.

You stretch, rubbing your face against the puffy pillow. Then you feel across your body, and while you weren’t stabbed, you are definitely ready to stab something yourself. For a moment, you consider how rude it is to rub one out in someone else’s bed, guest that you are.

Fuck that, and fuck Dave. If he has something against it, he should have told you. Not that you think him capable of that, with how flustered he got yesterday…

For a moment, you imagine yourself in his lap again. Grinding against him. Pushing him back against the couch with a hand on his neck, rubbing against those taut muscles before going higher to grab his pale hair. The gasp he might make as you roll your hips slowly, as you pull his head backwards and lean down to kiss him…

It’s clearly been too long since you’ve done this. It doesn’t take more than that before you release into your palm. Satisfaction and regret both mingle together in the tired haze that’s still lingering from your sleep. 

You consider your fantasy for a second. You would definitely fuck that guy if he wanted you to. Then again, with his reaction from the night before it’s hard to say if he’d be interested.

Also, you’re a bum living on the street. He’s a wealthy guy who could have any person he could possibly want. So there’s that.

You reluctantly leave the bed. Dave’s not sitting on the couch when you pass through the hallway, so you safely make it to the bathroom. It would be pretty awkward if he discovered you with your hand full of jizz.

In the bathroom you indulge in the luxury of another shower. Then you get into your own clothes again, except they’re cleaner than they’ve ever been. You can actually tell what color your clothes are supposed to be now, which just makes the dinginess of them even more apparent.. You take a moment to consider the spots where the patches you’ve sewed on are starting to fall off as well. It’s time to borrow a needle and thread from one of the shelters again.

You make your way to the kitchen and hover awkwardly for a bit. It’s hard not to feel inadequate with how extravagant this place is. There are at least fifteen different settings on the pompous-looking coffee machine, and the fridge has actual buttons. You have no clue what any of them do.

It’s so grandiose that you don’t even feel guilty for opening the fridge and stealing some food. Not one bit.

After careful consideration, you end up taking one of the three take-out boxes that haven’t been fully eaten yet. You drown out the part of your mind telling you Dave might have wanted this particular box for breakfast, and how disappointed he might be when he gets up to find it gone. Instead you summon the bitter thought that he can afford to just order in another serving if he wants it that much.

It tastes as great as your nose informed you it would. You sit by the kitchen island, munching cold noodles and listening to the silence. It’s not comfortable, a nagging in the back of your mind insisting you’re feeling _too_ much at home, but you weather it with the determination of a starving man. 

The bottom of the box faces you too soon, and also not soon enough. You feel slightly ready to puke; you’re not used to eating this much in one sitting.

There is no way in hell you’ll let your stomach get the final say in the matter. The meal was delicious and there is no way it will taste as great on the way up. Determined not to puke, you go to the bathroom to put the second load of your clothes in the dryer. After that there isn’t much to do. You look around the apartment, finding it largely empty of Dave’s personal belongings. There’s no pictures or books that you imagine to be his, only well made but painfully boring photographs and paintings that were clearly created to be generic. Easy to like. Then again, he said he’s been here for a week, so the likelihood that he’s renting is high.

The apartment yields no more hints about what Dave wants from you. In the end you turn on the TV.

Two episodes of “That 70’s Show” later, Dave’s bedroom door opens.

He walks out. You stare at him, taking in his groggy appearance and lack of glasses. There is no indication he notices that you’re there, as he doesn’t even glance at you on his way to the bathroom.

It takes him about ten minutes to come back out. He looks considerably more awake then, but is still not wearing the glasses. He comes to a stop in the hallway, and blinks at you as he meets your gaze.

“Morning,” you greet, and he nods back at you. Then he reverts his gaze and skulks back to his room. When he comes back he’s wearing his shades once more.

He takes place beside you on the sofa, and watches the rest of the episode in silence. You don’t break it, you know how irritating it is to be around people who are more awake in the morning. You’re usually not that person, but apparently today is the day for many miracles.

“So,” you start as the credits roll. He leans against the armrest so he’s mostly facing you.

“Any plans for the day?” you continue lamely. Dave lets out a breath that might be a laugh, and you are about to complain about him laughing at you when he answers.

“Got a couple of things I need to fix, but my day is pretty free at the moment. Gotta watch out so it doesn’t fly out the window, liberated as it is,” he answers. You nod, and fall back into an awkward silence.

“Actually, I was thinking we could hang out, if… Well, you’re probably busy with other things, I bet you’ve got a full posse of hobos hanging onto your every word, just waiting for you to tell them what‒‒no wait this is coming out really badly,” he says, and it’s your turn to let out a bark of laughter.

“Yes, they’re actually all waiting outside. This is secretly a coup, and we’re gonna storm the castle, arms flailing like our asses are on fire. But wait, oh shit, now that you know, I’ll have to kill you,” you joke back, trying to say the last part in your most deadpan voice. It’s clear you succeeded in lightening the atmosphere with how a grin breaks onto Dave’s face.

“Oh no, murder hobos all over my apartment, what’s a poor maiden to do. Better break out the lingerie,” Dave says while doing a terrible approximation of a faint, hand against his pan and everything.

“The hobos will kindly accept your payment. They’ll even be so nice as to do all your plumbing while they’re at it.”

Dave doesn’t quip back, and you are pretty sure you just managed to make it unfunny. Great job, Karkat. You really had managed to lighten the tone there for a second.

He’s staring at you, a frown appearing on his face as his brows pull up and his mouth twitches downwards. It’s a lot of emotion on what’s been a mostly blank slate. 

Okay, you overshot the punchline by a far distance, but the joke wasn’t _that_ bad.

Dave averts his gaze just as you open your mouth again.

“What? I know it was a bad joke, but you seriously look like I just murdered your significant other or something,” you say, because sometimes you’re just incapable of keeping your mouth shut.

Not very surprisingly, Dave’s face immediately closes off again. “Nah dude, it was a good joke, just smashed from sleep deprivation is all,” he responds as though he wasn’t joking along with you a second ago.

Mood swings it is. To be fair, it's time that this guy showed _some_ sign of weirdness after the great big weird act of bringing you into his house.

“Alright then, anything you wanted to do today? I have something I need to do as well, but you can come along if you want,” you say, despite feeling gross amounts of discomfort at the thought of bringing Dave along on your business.

And it’s not even just _business_ , it’s some pretty personal stuff. Maybe you should retract the offer.

“Yeah, that would be cool. My business is also out and about, anyway,” Dave says, and then falls silent again, leaving just the chatter of a commercial as the only sound in the room.

“So… Leaving after you eat breakfast, or what?” you ask, feeling the awkwardness down to your bones. You’re pretty much ready to go already, but you imagine Dave might need time just to wake up and get some grub.

“I’m not really a breakfast kind of person. We can go now, if you’re ready.” He then proceeds to look down at his own attire. “Actually, just a sec.”

He dashes off into his bedroom, and comes out seconds later with a suit on.

Okay, you hadn’t been hallucinating the night before. This guy is _fast_. 

“Do you have a magic show or something?” you grumble, and he looks at you with something like surprise.

“What?”

“Nevermind,” you dismiss, and then go to the bathroom to see if your stuff is ready. The dryer is still spinning serenely with half of your belongings inside of it.

“You can just leave it,” Dave says from right behind you. It takes serious effort not to flinch.

You don’t answer, merely pad off into the spare bedroom to put on your shoes. Dave’s waiting for you when you exit again, fully dressed.

It’s slightly eerie, but you decide to dismiss it as you follow him down the stairs. Still not taking the elevator.

“Are you one of those people who always work out for that “great” summer body or something?” you gasp in his general direction as you _finally_ step out from the stairwell. Never has the ground floor felt so great.

“Gotta keep up a body this sexy. Strider swag doesn’t come for free, you gotta work for it Karkles,” he tells you, not even out of breath. The bastard. You growl at him, and it infuriates you when he just grins back.

What you wouldn’t do to be a dragon right now. You’d eat his head right off his puny shoulders.

Your legs are not happy with you as you attempt to match his fast yet unbothered pace. His legs aren’t even particularly longer than yours. Cursed be the fit and the wealthy.

“Where are you going, anyway? I can order a taxi or something, if it’s far,” Dave offers, and you almost decline out of spite.

Would that spite hurt anyone else than yourself? Probably not.

“It’s quite a bit. Don’t know exactly, but probably an hour or so by foot,” you say, trying to be non-committal. Like it doesn’t bother you either way.

It’s not like you ever do anything else than walk the distance. Sometimes you might manage to sneak onto one of the city busses, but you tend not to take the chance of being thrown out. Looking like you do, bus drivers usually assume you can’t pay the fare. They’d usually be right.

“Alright, I’ll call my driver,” Dave says, like a proper wealthy asshat. You definitely don’t feel guilty about taking that leftover food of his now.

Despite your expectations, it’s not actually a limo that stops beside you a few minutes later. It’s a rather shitty car, to be perfectly honest.

Dave enters the front seat. “Sup, Ernie.”

“Morning, Strider.”

You get into the back seat. It smells of doritos. Glancing around, you do indeed see a shard of yellow corn chip sticking out from one of the seats. There are crumbs on the floor.

In the front of the car, Dave chats with the driver about everything from his wife, to how “mad whack” his music is. You are not certain whether that’s a positive thing, but Ernie seems to take it as a compliment.

The man doesn’t ask about you, or take it as any sort of strangeness that you’re accompanying Dave. Maybe this is a common occurrence. Perhaps you’re not special after all.

Why would he be talking to some random broad about you, then?

After a while the car slows to a halt outside of what looks like an office. Dave tells you to wait in the car, and you see little reason to disobey him. It only takes a few minutes before he slides back into the front seat. There's a pause as nobody says anything. Then Dave turns to you. “What was that place you were going to? I’m done with my stuff,” he says. Right. He had been waiting for you to give the next destination.

“It’s downtown. Dunno if you know where Denny's is located, over at Dreamstreet?” you ask, expecting the two of them to have no idea where that would be. It’s the shittiest neighbourhood in the entire city, nestled right up to the busy red light district.

Ernie nods and drives. Dave looks at you for a long time, neck bent so that he can see you. You stare back until he finally seems to give up on whatever it was he was staring at you for.

After ten minutes the car stops outside Denny’s, and you quickly open the door. “You guys should just drive around or something; I’ll be busy for a bit.” You close the door and turn, but hear another car door open. Dave apparently found your words to be an invite instead of a “fuck off”.

You shrug and stalk off. Whatever. If he wants to watch you drag this person around then he can be your guest. It’s not like you’re ashamed.

Around the corner of Denny’s, nestled in the alley between the fast food joint and a hostel, you drag your eyes across dumpsters and trash cans until you find the particular trash that you’re looking for.

You give it a kick.

“Get up, you waste of a perfectly disgusting existence. Get your bony ass off the concrete,” you order the lanky piece of shit laying sprawled on the ground, one measly piece of cardboard between him and the ground. His head tilts, long, greasy hair tumbling to the side of his face. His droopy eyes meet yours and you glare.

His voice is low and gravelly and as far off as you’ve ever heard him.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you looking so shiny, motherfucker. Must be some kind of miracle as has found you today, best friend.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taco Bell finds a tough competitor when it comes to holding Dave Strider's heart.

You have never been this conflicted before, you decide as you watch Karkat dragging Gamzee out from behind a dumpster. On one hand, you want to grab Karkat’s hand and get the fuck out of dodge. On the other hand, Karkat isn’t really yours to drag around as you wish. He’s not some lost puppy you found in a little cardboard box on the streets, despite you getting to know him in a similar fashion. So you took him off the streets, got him dry and fed, and gave him a place to sleep. In return, he owes you less than the dirt beneath your shoes, and that’s some pretty rank dirt.

Gamzee is a mess and a half, with big gangly limbs almost disguised underneath a humongous coat. You’re certain you can smell that coat from here. Or just smell him. Either way, watching Karkat touch him like that, getting all close and personal, sends a literal shudder down your spine.

By no means would you label yourself a judgemental bastard. You would kiss a baby whether it was blue or black or grey. It’s not like you judge people on their background or anything. Except if they’re dead. The internet will do well to let those dead babies lie once and for all. You’re so past dead baby jokes, you wouldn’t even touch them with a ten foot pole. And besides, dead babies have nothing on  _ this _ bastard.

It’s easy to ignore the voice of Rose in your head that calls you out on your bullshit. You ignore that thought like it’s the black plague and you are that one lucky fucker who lived so remotely you haven’t seen a person in 14 years. It’s just you, your dog and your plague-free rats. You’re not even thinking about how dirty just looking at Gamzee makes you feel, even while standing several meters away and not breathing through your nose.

“I’m just bringing this asshole around to the fucking soup kitchen, feel free to go anywhere else if this offends your sensibilities,” Karkat says, and it’s harder to ignore when  _ he _ calls you out on your prima hoofbeast manure. Shit, that stuff is downright nostalgic is what it is.

“I bet there’s some great food in the soup kitchen. I’m down for that mystery meat any day Kaykay, lead the way,” you respond, and keep your voice carefully bland. You’re not some sarcastic broad. Irony’s the only jam you’ll take on your bread, and you’ll be damned the day anyone tells you otherwise.

“Great,” you’re fairly sure you hear Karkat mutter as he shoulders past you. Gamzee gives you the absolute most creepy grin ever. That shudder is back full force, you must be looking like a werewolf with how your fur is rising here.

Karkat leads the way, Gamzee stumbling beside him, and you tell Ernie you’ll call him when you need him again. Guy should be allowed to go out and earn some money while you fuck around.

Calling Ernie your driver is actually a bit of a joke. If you were to be brutally honest, which you rarely are, you’d tell people he was just the one taxi driver you kept calling while you were in this city. And you don’t mean in a sexy way, you wouldn’t do that to his kids and also to yourself, it’s just that you have a hard time making connections and maybe paying for someone to joke around with you while you tell them to drive places is all you’re gonna get.

Except for Rose. But Rose stands you in a way only a sister can; with great contempt and love all mixed together in a mush that means the two of you can never be in the same place for too long. You both have issues, that’s no secret, and the two of you tend to weaponize them against each other even at the best of times.

In other completely unsurprising news, the soup kitchen is a dank hole packed with people sitting on benches, on the floor, or on the low windowsills. It smells like gravy, and you are not so experienced with gravy you’d be able to tell whether that’s a bad thing. With there being this many people here it can’t be too poisonous. Right?

Well, you haven’t had breakfast. Might as well go for it.

“So, how did you two lovebirds meet?” you say, and manage to stop a grimace from making an appearance on your face. You do  _ not _ want that accusation confirmed.

As Karkat rubs his face and drags the clown into the waiting line, Gamzee is giving him that dopy, sharp smile with full force.

“It was all kinds of motherfucking miracles as brought us together,” the dude grinds out of his throat like a grinding rock used for corn. Corn that is actually rocks. His voice is just that grindy.

“Yeah, well, we grew up together. Nothing “motherfucking miraculous” about it,” Karkat snaps, and Gamzee sends him a fond smile. You think you might just puke.

“So, what, you grew up together and then both ended on the street?” you utter, just as a sinking realization hits you.

“Oh yeah, because people just choose to be out here. We, idiotic teens that we were, decided that dregs of society, that was the place for us!” Karkat says, and his bitter tone is quite loud even in the noisy hall. You, being the social savvy that you are, completely ignore the glares being pointed in your general direction.

You do raise your hands up in the universal sign of “peace”. Or at least, the universal sign of “I hold no guns or cocks in my hands”. 

“Hey man, I don’t blame you for being here. It’s not like it’s your fault or anything,” you say, and Karkat snorts derisively in reply. “Society is really fucked up if this many people don’t have a home. It’s one thing to choose not to have one, but I bet not a single person in here chose to sleep on the streets.”

Karkat’s expression has changed, and he’s not looking offended anymore. You feel like this is the gaze he gets when he’s reading a book he’s conflicted about, or watching a movie that suddenly took a turn for the better after being forty minutes of pure trash.

“You’re one smart motherfucker. All up in that education on equality and ethics and shit,” Gamzee apprises you, and you just can’t fucking stop shuddering every time this dude speaks. Judging from the gaze he’s giving you, he knows all too well the effect he’s having on you. Bastard.

“Alright bulgemuncher, get your grub before someone beats you up for blocking the line again,” Karkat grumbles.

It takes you actual seconds and the complaint from a lady behind you before you also move. Your heart is beating 118 beats per minute, and your brain is clogged with the possibility that one word contains.  _ Bulgemuncher _ . You shouldn’t be getting your hopes up, you know that, but the thought that there might be some memories left over, even if those memories aren’t  _ you _ …

By the time you zone back in, you’ve sat down onto a piece of dirty floor, beside Karkat and opposite Gamzee. You have a plate of mushy brown stuff that you barely remember being served. It looks disgusting, but by the way Gamzee is scarfing it down and Karkat is eating careful bites it can’t be  _ too _ bad.

It only takes you two mouthfuls to decide that this mystery meat kitchen is your new Taco-bell. It’s fucking delicious, and you stare down at your plate in absolute wonder. There is simply something to the fullness of the flavor, the way the meat gives little resistance, melts in your mouth like spun sugar except with less sweet and more savory. This meal is a party and you are walking into the club like what’s up. Like in every movie ever, the crowd cheers instead of completely ignoring you like the tard you are. Who even shouts in a club and expects people to actually hear you over the music? Except this meal is a portal into another realm, and you just boarded your spaceship, ready for launch.

“You hanging out with Tav today?”

You are almost done polishing your plate when Karkat speaks. It’s not a name that you remember ever hearing, but you listen intently anyway.

“Yeah brother, we’re shooting up some wicked melodies all up in this streetway,” Gamzee answers, and goes back to licking his own plate. It’s getting to the point of looking like it’s been in the dishwasher with how careful he is to get any trace of sauce left over.

Talking about rap. For a second, you are so very tempted to pull up a certain video. Show it to Gamzee. It’s the same kind of urge you might get to jump off a cliff when you’re standing on the edge.

Yeah, you’re not doing that.

Karkat grabs Gamzee’s plate, and you bring your own to deliver them into the appropriate receptacle. The two of you go over to the chef to thank her for the meal, and you slip a hundred dollar bill into the donations glass on the way out. You manage to completely ignore the intense stare Karkat is giving you. It truly is one of your finest skills, polished to perfection by many years of practice.

You tag along as Karkat drags Gamzee with him until you’re all standing on a street corner, a wheelchair zooming towards you on the uneven walkway. Seeing the guy doesn’t make him any more familiar.

Except, it actually does, once you focus only on the limp mohawk. All of the colors on him are wrong, but that didn’t really stop you from recognizing Karkat. This guy, you don’t know nearly as well. But you  _ do _ recognize him, you realize.

You’re kind of getting lost in the implications here, because Karkat’s nudging you before you realize you’ve zoned out again.

“Are we going, or do you want to stare at the idiots until your eyeballs rot out of your sight receptacles?” Karkat says.

In the background, Gamzee is wheeling Tavros away from them.

“You always say the sweetest things Karkat,” you tell him, and pull your phone out of your pocket. “Where do you want to go, anyway? We could go see a movie or something, if you want,” you offer. Your screen stays locked, as you gaze over at Karkat. He looks thoughtful.

“If you’re paying, then I have something I’d rather do,” he says, and you actually feel your brows rising without a clear permission to do so. They’ve been out of control since you met Karkat. The stallions are not tamed, the stables are a mess, and you could be thrown out of the saddle at a moment’s notice. There’s just no restraining these bad boys. You were totally expecting Karkat to want to see a romcom or something. If he hasn’t been able to do so in a while, his cravings must be off the charts.

Karkat seems to take your silence as a yes.

“I have… There are some things, that would be nice to have. If you...” Karkat trails off, and you tilt your head in confusion. You stare at him until he throws his hands up in frustration.

“I just need some small necessities, okay? Just like, a small payphone and some toiletries and some new socks. But if that’s too much, I know it’s stupid to ask you to pay for my stuff...” He repeats the gesture, throwing his hands up before letting them hang dejectedly.

“Dude, I really don’t mind buying you some stuff. It’s not like I don’t have the money for it,” you attempt, and Karkat gives you a look like you’re physically hurting him.

“I’ll pay you back. When I can. It would just really help me right now, to have this stuff,” he explains defensively, and you shrug. You really don’t care about the money. If there’s one thing people should be saying about you, it’s that your economic sense rocks ass. There is literally not a single dollar you’ve earned that hasn’t been put to good use, in your humble opinion.

Alright, so buying Rose that huge wizard statue as a joke was probably not good use of your money. But at least she is actually using it daily. The statue was now a prime contender for best coat rack in history.

“No worries. So going to Walmart or something, then?” you confirm, and it’s Karkat’s turn to pull his shoulders up.

It takes a minute for you to call up Ernie, and then you’re just standing there in a kinda awkward silence.

You are never one to leave such silences to their peace.

“You and Gamz grew up together, and Tav is some guy you met on the way?”

Karkat glances over at you. You hold his gaze behind your Ray-bans, just staring back until he opens his mouth to answer.

“Gamzee and I were in a foster home together. Gamzee has always had this imbecilic habit of getting into deep shit with absolutely every moron out there, and Tav’s pretty much the only person who’s idiot enough to stay around. Or kind enough. So that’s their story, pretty much,” Karkat grumbles.

“You seem to be pretty stuck with the guy as well,” you comment.

“That’s definitely on the idiot side of things. I never could resist trying to drag him out of whatever pisshole he’s managed to bury himself in.”

Your eyes keep lingering on him. Karkat is staring straight into the air stubbornly, his hand fiddling with a hole in his jacket.

For a moment, you give the jacket a look-over. Yeah, definitely getting him a new jacket as well.

“So he makes trouble and makes it double and you drag him out of it like a hot air balloon,” you say, and find that this all confirms your suspicions about the whole situation. You’d never take Karkat as the kind who’d end up in this situation. The dude worked harder than you ever could, and that was on a day off. He shouldn’t have had any trouble dealing with a job, even if it was just something completely shitty like retail or something.

If Gamzee was dragging him into trouble all the time, then it made sense that Karkat would just weather it. The dude was a god of standing in the shitstorms his friends made and saying “this is fine” like some terrible meme.

“Trust me, that fucker is a master at making situations into conflicts. He could make the nicest person in the world start batting at him with a hammer if he just stayed in their company long enough,” Karkat says, and sighs.

“Almost like he’s got a superpower, huh,” you drawl. Karkat glances at you with a frown. “I mean, getting on every single person’s nerve has got to be some kind of god-given gift of utter bullshit. I’d say I’m surprised you’re still here, but you don’t seem like the kind to just leave someone if they’re in trouble.”

Karkat snorts, and sinks his hands into the large pockets of his coat. “Like I even have a choice, at this point. It seems fate has decided that I will be the dirt under its boot.”

“Fate’s the dog, and you’re the squeaky toy it just can’t get enough of,” you chuckle. Surprisingly, Karkat gives a chuckle as well.

“Damn right. So now I’m just wondering when fate’s gonna take the next step forward,” Karkat says, and you feel like his eyes are looking at you very pointedly. You lift your hands in the air: still no dicks.

“Hey, I’ll only step on you if you ask very nicely Karkles,” you say, and grin when you see his mouth twitching.

A familiar old car comes driving up to you. Ernie sends you a tired smile as you get into the front seat.

“Sup, Ernie,” you give him your usual greeting.

“Where to, Strider?” he replies easily.

The closest Walmart is a few minutes away, and you pass the time in easy chatter about the greatness of soup kitchens. Ernie humors you, as usual.

You really can’t get over how great Ernie is. Mostly just because he’s a boss who likes fishes. Apparently he has a really cool aquarium. You’ve tried to convince him to name one of the big suckerfish Obama, but so far he hasn’t caved.

“It really isn’t that great Dave, you can stop flapping your wordflippers about it,” Karkat grumbles in the back seat, and for a second you think he’s talking about Obama. You puff yourself up to give him a telling-off and everything, before you realize he was referring to the mystery meat.

“Hey, that gravy-stuff was the food of the gods. I can’t believe such foodmagic has existed on this earth right beneath my nose, and I’ve never known,” you tell him. Glancing behind you, he doesn’t seem particularly impressed.

“Whatever,” Karkat replies, and stops talking again. Yeah, that just won’t do.


End file.
